


Experience

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Eönwë is introduced to Fëanáro’s second son.





	Experience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurawolfgirl2000](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aurawolfgirl2000).



> A/N: Fill for aurawolfgirl2000’s “Eonwe/Maglor [...] love at first sight” request for my [karma commissions.](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/162565904960/prompt-list-3)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The celebration of the elves is a joyous one, if odd, and Eönwë can, at least, enjoy parts of it vicariously through them. He doesn’t understand why the bland, melancholy music brings smiles to their faces, nor why they sway together on the dance floor, clumped into pairs of two. The food laid out across long tables is all particularly sweet, and though Eönwë has no true _need_ of sustenance, he can still indulge in a few wayward bites. He finds it all bizarrely light and insubstantial. But those about him are happy enough, and that is all he needs to know: all he will report before Manwë’s throne. All is well in Valinor. The elves go on peacefully, pleasantly, ever unchanging, and they propose toasts to their prosperity.

Eönwë watches most of this from the sidelines, hovering back between the towering pillars of the dancehall or off beside the dining tables. Finally, when the music becomes too sadly dull, he retreats out to the balcony, where the brilliant sky is dressed in the wispy haze of many opaque clouds. It darkens the light but hardly diminishes the mood. With his elf-like hands curled around the railing, he peers up at them, and longs to shed his current form and _soar_ across the lands. 

A throat clears behind him. Eönwë turns, already sensing the owner of the voice. Fëanáro has one of the strongest of spirits, easy to know in any crowd. He steps out onto the wide balcony, and with one arm around the back of a younger elf, he lightly pushes that charge forward.

Eönwë’s eyes instantly fall to the newcomer—one who’s spirit he doesn’t yet know, and yet would know anywhere; the line of the great Finwë is always clear, and that familiar handsomeness shows through in this youth’s face. He stands tall and straight before Fëanáro, though not as tall as Fëanáro’s first born, and his hair is a bottomless black, pure but shining, particularly striking against his paler skin. His eyes are thin, serenely blanketed by thick, dark lashes, with irises like precious stones and the promise of great depth. His well-defined cheekbones dip down to soft pink lips, his neck long and slender, his body lithe and graceful. The robes he wears shimmer from lavender to sapphire, sloping down across his trim shoulders and cinched tight about his waist. Eönwë takes all of him in an instinct, and yet lingers far longer, drinking in many details again and again. He feels a curious sensation in doing so, and it isn’t until Fëanáro speaks again that Eönwë realizes he’s been holding his breath.

Breath is, of course, an Elven concept, but he resumes it anyway, albeit at a strangely fluttering pace. It takes some force of will to turn his eyes back to Fëanáro, and Fëanáro smoothly drawls, “Eönwë, it is good to see you here. I had hoped for an opportunity to introduce to you my second son, Kanafinwë, who has only recently reached his majority and the right to attend such functions and meet with Maiar.”

The name _Kanafinwë_ plays back in Eönwë’s mind. It has a lilting, lyrical quality to it that he thinks would roll so easily off his tongue. When he turns his gaze once more to Kanafinwë, he finds he’s at a loss for words.

Fortunately, Kanafinwë speaks first. He murmurs, “It is an honour to meet you,” and his voice is everything that Eönwë had hoped—like a practiced, yet natural songbird, blessing all who listen with such exquisite art. Kanafinwë lowers his lovely face against his chest, and he dips into a low bow, slow and beyond elegant. By the time he straightens again, Eönwë is transfixed.

Eönwë’s never been stirred to such _awe_ before. He’s stricken and still hasn’t any words.

“He is quite the minstrel,” Fëanáro boasts, and from Kanafinwë’s voice alone, Eönwë can believe it. “He will be playing the next set; I do hope you will enjoy it.” Eönwë nods and knows he will. His interest is already piqued by the promise. Kanafinwë’s cheeks stain an attractive shade of rose, and he politely lowers his gaze. Then something seems to catch Fëanáro’s eye, and he turns back towards the hall, announcing off-handedly, “Now, if you will excuse me...”

Eönwë finally speaks. He tells the father, “It was good to see you.” And he catches a tiny noise—a slight hitch of breath from the son. As Fëanáro sweeps away, Kanafinwë stays, which Eönwë finds himself inordinately grateful for.

For a long moment, the two of them stand there, swathed in silence, Kanafinwë eyeing the stone beneath them and Eönwë mesmerized.

Finally, Kanafinwë lifts his chin, and their eyes meet, sparking a palpable shiver beneath Eönwë’s skin. Kanafinwë murmurs, “It truly is an honour to meet you, my lord.” 

“I am no lord,” Eönwë returns, because he would have this gorgeous creature speak his name—he longs to hear it sung in that sweet voice.

Kanafinwë smiles softly and grants his wish, correcting, “ _Eönwë._ ” After a long pause, he tilts his head and resumes, “I admit, I have seen a few Maiar before, and yet... none so intriguing, so...handsome, as you.” Eönwë’s chest constricts—his body is suddenly a flurry of strange _feelings_ and nuances that he doesn’t understand. Kanafinwë finishes, “You are Manwë’s herald, yes...?”

“Yes,” Eönwë answers. “And I am glad that my form is pleasing to you, for you are perhaps the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.” When the words are already out, Eönwë wonders why in the world he ever said them—he hadn’t meant to, yet he meant them. Kanafinwë’s eyes have gone a little wide, his plush lips parting. His cheeks have stained darker, and the flush is oddly charming.

With an audible exhale, Kanafinwë smiles, voice almost rippling with gentle laughter, the sort that comes from delight, not humour. Eönwë has met Fëanáro’s first son, and this one sees more delicate, more serene and certainly more beautiful, than his brother and his father, even his grandfather, though Eönwë still detects a great strength within him. This is one, Eönwë thinks, that will last the ages.

He doesn’t want to relinquish the moment they currently share. Though he never did see the appeal before, now he asks, “Will you share a dance with me?”

“Yes,” Kanafinwë replies without any hesitation. “I... do have a set soon, but... I believe I should manage one song.”

Eönwë bows his head in gratitude. He knows one song will hardly be enough, but he will take what he’s able, and he extends a hand to hand to Kanafinwë the way he’s often seen elves do to one another. Kanafinwë bypasses it entirely, instead placing his hands back along Eönwë’s arm. Eönwë guides him into the hall and begins to _understand._


End file.
